Everand Logo

Welcome to Everand!

  • Discover millions of ebooks, audiobooks, and so much more with a free trial

    Only $11.99/month after trial. Cancel anytime.

    Amaury by Alexandre Dumas (Illustrated)
    Amaury by Alexandre Dumas (Illustrated)
    Amaury by Alexandre Dumas (Illustrated)
    Ebook439 pages5 hours

    Amaury by Alexandre Dumas (Illustrated)

    By Alexandre Dumas

    ()

    Read preview

    About this ebook

    This eBook features the unabridged text of ‘Amaury’ from the bestselling edition of ‘The Collected Works of Alexandre Dumas’.

    Having established their name as the leading publisher of classic literature and art, Delphi Classics produce publications that are individually crafted with superior formatting, while introducing many rare texts for the first time in digital print. The Delphi Classics edition of Dumas includes original annotations and illustrations relating to the life and works of the author, as well as individual tables of contents, allowing you to navigate eBooks quickly and easily.

    eBook features:
    * The complete unabridged text of ‘Amaury’
    * Beautifully illustrated with images related to Dumas’s works
    * Individual contents table, allowing easy navigation around the eBook
    * Excellent formatting of the textPlease visit www.delphiclassics.com to learn more about our wide range of titles
    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherPublishdrive
    Release dateJul 17, 2017
    ISBN9781786568915
    Amaury by Alexandre Dumas (Illustrated)
    Author

    Alexandre Dumas

    Frequently imitated but rarely surpassed, Dumas is one of the best known French writers and a master of ripping yarns full of fearless heroes, poisonous ladies and swashbuckling adventurers. his other novels include The Three Musketeers and The Man in the Iron Mask, which have sold millions of copies and been made into countless TV and film adaptions.

    Read more from Alexandre Dumas

    Related to Amaury by Alexandre Dumas (Illustrated)

    Titles in the series (35)

    View More
    View More

    Related ebooks

    Classics For You

    View More
    View More

    Related podcast episodes

    Related articles

    • Article

      Estella’s Fate

      May 17, 2023

      Estella’s Fate
      7 min read

    • Article

      The medieval Mills & Boon

      May 13, 2021

      The medieval Mills & Boon
      7 min read

    • Article

      Hilary Mantel: Her 10 Greatest Books

      Sep 23, 2022

      Dame Hilary Mantel, who has died suddenly aged 70, was late to become a household name, but once she did, there was no stopping her. The arrival of the third volume of her Wolf Hall trilogy – after an eight-year wait during which it felt as if the wh

      4 min read

    • Article

      A Year in Reading: Matt Seidel

      Dec 9, 2017

      I tend to buy used books in bunches, which means the haul from some expeditions stays buried for weeks, months, years even. For this entry, I highlight three finds that, breaking custom, I bought and read almost immediately this year: Hugo Charteris’

      6 min read

    • Article

      Snaps, Crackles And Pop Art

      Mar 30, 2023

      WRITING ABOUT MUSIC, as the comedian Martin Mull put it, is like dancing about architecture. Novelists who try their hand at the story-about-a-band genre rarely produce their best goods, even when the results are interesting (Don DeLillo’s Great Jone

      6 min read

    • Article

      Nadar’s Livre d’or

      Jul 5, 2017

      Nadar’s Livre d’or
      9 min read

    • Article

      On Pandemic and Literature

      Mar 12, 2020

      Narrative can preserve and remake the world as it falls apart. Such is the point of telling any story. Illness reminds us that the world isn’t ours; literature let’s us know that it is—sometimes. The post On Pandemic and Literature appeared first on

      14 min read

    • Article

      Case D Altri

      Mar 25, 2022

      Case D Altri
      7 min read

    • Article

      Crime and the City: Visiting Amsterdam’s Dark Side

      Mar 27, 2017

      Amsterdam—a good place to start Literary Hub’s investigation of the world’s Crime Cities. Everyone has an image of Amsterdam, an idea of what it’s like—canals, bicycles, harmonized urban living; a liberal, safe, easygoing place. It’s a city that enco

      6 min read

    • Article

      The Waste Land turns 100

      Oct 19, 2022

      The Waste Land turns 100
      5 min read

    • Article

      Stranger Than Fiction

      Apr 12, 2024

      Stranger Than Fiction
      5 min read

    • Article

      The Cult Of The Imperfect

      Oct 28, 2019

      The Cult Of The Imperfect
      11 min read

    • Article

      Pioneering Fairytale Author Madame D'Aulnoy Back In Print After Centuries

      Dec 21, 2020

      A story by Madame d’Aulnoy, the 17th-century French writer who coined the term “fairytales”, is to be published in English for the first time in more than 300 years, telling of a woman whose beauty is so great it slays her lovers by the hundreds. Mar

      2 min read

    • Article

      Thrilling French letters

      Oct 18, 2023

      Thrilling French letters
      3 min read

    Related categories

    Reviews for Amaury by Alexandre Dumas (Illustrated)

    0 ratings

    0 ratings0 reviews

    What did you think?

    Tap to rate

    Review must be at least 10 words

      Book preview

      Amaury by Alexandre Dumas (Illustrated) - Alexandre Dumas

      follows.

      CHAPTER I.

      TOWARDS the beginning of May, in the year 1838, as ten o’clock was just striking, the courtyard door of a large house in the Rue des Mathurins opened, and a young man, whose slender limbs and rather long neck betrayed his English origin, rode out mounted on a fine chestnut horse; behind him, and from the same entrance of the same house, followed a groom, dressed in black, who rode at a suitable distance. He too was mounted on a thoroughbred, though a lover of horseflesh would have easily discerned that his horse was not of so pure a blood as his master’s.

      This horseman, who only needed to be seen to be instantly recognised for what, in the parlance our English neighbours across the water, the world calls a lion, was a young fellow between twenty-three and twenty-four, whose dress was marked by that simplicity and elegance which distinguishes those of gentle birth, and the habit of which can never be acquired by education.

      It is but fair to say that his looks were in perfect harmony with his dress and appearance, and it would be difficult to meet with anyone more distinguished and refined-looking than this man, with his face framed in black hair and black whiskers, and to which a colourless, yet fresh and youthful, complexion lent a special air of distinction. The young man, last scion of one of the oldest families under the monarchy, was the proud possessor of one of those ancient names which are now rapidly dying out and will soon figure only in history: his name was Amaury de Léoville.

      Now, if after describing his outward appearance, we pass on to a more intimate description, from the physical to the moral, from what seems to what is, we shall see that the calmness of his face is in harmony with the state of his heart, of which it is the reflex. The smile, which from time to time curves his lips, and which is but an answer to his thoughts, is the smile of a happy man.

      Let us follow this fortunate youth, so richly endowed by fate that he is at once the possessor of good birth and good means, youth and distinction, handsome looks and happiness, for he is the hero of our story.

      On leaving home he set his horse at a canter; and, keeping the same pace, reached the Boulevard, passed the Madeleine, threaded his way along the Faubourg St. Honoré, and arrived at the Rue d’Angoulême.

      Once there, with a light touch on the rein, he slackened speed, whilst his hitherto careless and indifferent gaze became riveted on a certain point in the street he was just entering.

      This was a charming house situated between a forecourt, full of flowers and enclosed by iron railings, and one of those large gardens which the industrial Paris of these times sees day by day disappearing, only to be replaced by those huge stone barracks, without air, without space, without greenery, which we so inappropriately call houses. On reaching this spot, his horse drew up of its own accord, as though from force of habit, but after a long look at two of the windows, the curtains of which were closely drawn as if to defy too curious inquiry from without, Amaury continued his way, not, however, without looking back more than once, not without satisfying himself by consulting his watch that the hour had not yet arrived which would open the doors to him.

      The only thing therefore for our young hero to do was to kill time: so he dismounted at Lepage’s Gallery, and amused himself by shooting first at dolls, then at eggs, and finally at a minute mark.

      All games of skill arouse the wish to excel. So in spite of the fact that our young marksman had no other spectators but the loaders, as he was an admirable shot, and they had nothing else to do than to stand round and watch him, he was able to dispose very satisfactorily of three quarters of an hour or so at this sport. Then he remounted, galloped off towards the Bois, and in a few minutes found himself at the Avenue Madrid. There he met one of his friends, with whom he spent half-an-hour discussing the latest steeple-chase, and the coming races at Chantilly.

      They were then joined by a third friend, whom they came across at the Porte St. James. The friend in question was but three days returned from the East, and his descriptions of social life at Cairo and Constantinople were so interesting, that another hour passed by without seeming too excessively long. But this hour gone, our hero could no longer restrain himself, and wishing his two friends goodbye, he galloped off. Then, without drawing rein or slackening his pace, he returned, straight as an arrow, to that end of the Rue d’Angoulême which opens on to the Champs Elysées.

      There he pulled up, looked at his watch and, seeing that it was now one o’clock, he dismounted, threw the reins to his groom, approached the house before which he had stopped some hours earlier, and rang the bell.

      If Amaury were diffident, this diffidence seemed rather unaccountable, as by the smile with which the servants greeted him, from the concierge who opened the door, to the footman in the hall, it was very evident he was no stranger to the house.

      So too, when the visitor asked if Monsieur d’Avrigny were at home, the servant replied as to one for whom the usual conventionalities might naturally be relaxed.

      No! sir! but the ladies are in the small drawing-room.

      Then as he was about to announce him, Amaury waved him aside, and with the assurance of an old friend of the family, went along a narrow passage, on to which all the doors opened, and soon reached the small drawing-room, the door of which being ajar, enabled him to see into the room.

      For one moment he stood in the doorway. Two young girls of eighteen and nineteen were seated facing each other embroidering at the same frame, whilst in the window recess their old English governess had just put down her book, and was gazing affectionately at her two pupils.

      The highest conception of painting, that queen of the arts, could not have reproduced a more charming picture than that formed by the two young girls; the two faces, almost touching one another, were such a contrast both in character and appearance, that one might have imagined Raphael himself had brought them together as a study of two distinct types, equally beautiful though utterly different.

      One of the young girls was fair and pale with long hair curled in the English fashion, blue eyes, and a neck perhaps a shade too long; she seemed a fragile and delicate maiden, born to float on the mists swept by the north wind round the summits of the bleak mountains of Scotland, or through the foggy valleys of Great Britain; one of those visions half-human, half-fairy, which Shakespeare alone has conceived, and transformed by sheer force of genius, from the fantastic to the real delightful creations which, before his birth, no one had ever imagined, since his death, no one has ever equalled, and to which he gave such sweet names as Cordelia, Ophelia, or Miranda.

      Her companion, on the other hand, had black hair, which she wore plaited; a brilliant complexion, sparkling eyes, rich red lips, and a bright, sparkling manner; she reminded one of those maidens, bronzed by the suns of Italy, whom Boccaccio brings together in the Villa Palmieri, to listen to the gay tales of the Decameron. She was overflowing with life and health, thoughts which she could not put into words were reflected in her expressive face. If at times sad, for none however happy but have their moments of sadness, her melancholy could never entirely cloud her usually cheerful expression; behind her sadness one could always feel her smile, as the sun peeps out from behind the thunder-cloud.

      Such were the two girls, who, as we have already said, seated opposite to each other, and bending over the same embroidery frame, worked at a bunch of flowers, which grew under their dainty fingers; and, each true to her character, the one created lilies and pale hyacinths, whilst the other shaded with living colours tulips, auriculas, and carnations.

      After a moment or two of quiet contemplation, the young man pushed open the door.

      At the sound both girls turned and uttered a little cry, like two gazelles caught unawares; the only difference was that a bright but fleeting blush suffused the fair girl’s face, whilst, on the other hand, her companion grew imperceptibly paler.

      I see that I should not have entered unannounced, said the young man, as he advanced eagerly towards the fair young girl, taking no notice of her friend, because I startled you, Madeleine. Forgive me, Madeleine; somehow I always consider myself Monsieur d’Avrigny’s adopted son, and act as if I were still living in the house.

      Quite right, Amaury, answered Madeleine. Besides, I do not believe you could act differently, even if you tried; six weeks cannot change the habits of eighteen years. But you have not yet wished Antoinette good-morning.

      Smiling the young man held out his hand to the dark girl.

      Excuse my seeming rudeness, dear Antoinette, he said; but I felt I must ask forgiveness for my awkwardness from her whom my awkwardness alarmed. I heard Madeleine cry out, and hastened at once to her.

      Then turning to the governess he said, How do you do, Miss Brown?

      Antoinette smiled half sadly, as she returned the young man’s grasp, because she knew that she too had uttered a cry, but Amaury had not noticed it.

      As to Miss Brown, she saw nothing, or rather she saw everything, but did not look below the surface.

      You need make no excuses, my dear Count, she said; on the contrary, it is a pity others do not more often follow your example, if only to cure this dear child of her foolish terrors and sudden alarms. Do you know what is the cause of it all? her habit of dreaming. She lives in a world of her own into which she retires when wearied with the real world. What happens in that other world? I cannot tell. I only know that if this goes on, she will end by giving up the one for the other, and then her dream will become her life, whilst her life will become the dream.

      Madeleine turned to the young Count with a sweet steady look, which plainly said: You know of whom I am thinking in my dreams. Amaury, do you not?

      Antoinette caught this look, she remained standing motionless for one moment, then instead of sitting down again at the frame, moved to the piano, and let her fingers stray lightly over the keys into one of Thalberg’s fantasias.

      Madeleine took up her work, and Amaury seated himself beside her.

      CHAPTER II.

      HOW IT pains me, my dear Made1eine, whispered Amaury, that we are now so rarely alone and free to talk! Is it by chance or by your father’s orders?

      Alas! I do not know, answered the girl, but be sure I suffer just as much as you do. When we were able to see each other every day, and at every hour of the day, we did not sufficiently appreciate our happiness; it is so in everything, — to make us long for the sun, we must first have felt the shadow.

      But, could you not tell Antoinette, or at least hint to her, that by sometimes keeping good old Miss Brown away, she would be doing us a great kindness; I think she remains on here more from force of habit than motives of prudence, and I do not believe your father has ever given her positive orders to keep us always in sight.

      I have thought of doing so twenty times over, Amaury, but I really cannot account for the feeling which always hinders me. The instant I open my lips to speak of you to my cousin, my voice fails, and yet what can I tell her which she does not know already? She knows how I love you.

      Yes! and I know it too, Madeleine; but I want to hear you say it openly. Look dear, you know how happy it makes me to see you, but truly I think I would rather deprive myself of this happiness than have to meet you always before strangers, before cold and indifferent people in whose presence your dear voice changes, and you disguise your feelings. Why, even at this moment you cannot tell how this restraint chafes me.

      Madeleine rose with a smile on her face. Amaury, she said, will you come with me into the garden and greenhouse to pick some flowers? I am painting a nosegay from nature, and as mine of yesterday is faded, I must have a fresh one.

      Antoinette got up quickly.

      Madeleine, she said, as the two girls exchanged a meaning glance, it is not wise for you to go out this dull, cold weather. Let me do this for you, and I know that I shall carry it out with credit to myself. My dear Miss Brown, she said, will you be good enough to fetch the nosegay which you will find in a Japanese vase on the small round buhl table in Madeleine’s room, and bring it to me in the garden; only by having the old one before my eyes, can I arrange another exactly like it.

      So saying, Antoinette stepped out by one of the windows opening to the ground, and walked down a flight of steps into the garden, whilst Miss Brown, who had received no instructions with regard to the two young people, and who well knew the strong affection which existed between them from childhood, opened a side door, and went out of the room, without making any remark.

      Amaury’s eyes followed the governess out of the room, then as soon as he found himself alone with the young girl, he seized her hand.

      At last, Madeleine dear, he said, with a look of passionate love, we are alone for a moment. Look at me, darling. Tell me again and again that you love me, because truly, since the unaccountable change in your father’s manner towards me, I begin to doubt everything. You know that I am yours body and soul; you know that I love you!

      Oh yes! answered the girl, with one of those sighs of joy which relieve the over-full heart, yes, tell me again that you love me, because sometimes, frail creature that I am, it seems your great love alone which keeps me alive. When you are with me, Amaury, I breathe freely, I feel strong. Before you come, after you have gone, my heart dies within me; and now that you no longer live with us, you are so often away. How long must it be before it is my right to be always with you, — you who are my life, my soul?

      Listen, Madeleine, whatever happens, I shall write to your father this very night.

      And what do you suppose can happen but that our childhood’s dreams will at last be realised? Since you are twenty, and I fifteen, have we not always felt ourselves destined for each other? Write boldly to my father, Amaury, and you will see that he cannot refuse to listen to your letter on the one hand and my entreaties on the other.

      "I wish I felt equally confident, Madeleine, but really your father’s manner has I greatly changed towards me of late. After treating me for fifteen years as his own son, has he not little by little assumed towards me the attitude of a stranger?

      After living in this house like your brother, now when I come into the room without warning, you utter a cry of alarm."

      Ah! that cry was one of joy, Amaury; your presence can never take me by surprise, for I am always expecting you; but I am now so weak and nervous that I cannot control my feelings. You must be lenient with me, dearest, and treat me like that sensitive plant which we amused ourselves with tormenting the other day, not thinking that it too has life, as we have, and that very probably we were hurting it. Well! I am like the sensitive plant; to feel you near me gives me that sense of security which, as a child, I felt when on my mother’s knee. God, in taking her from me, has given me you instead. To her I owe the first part of my life, the second, I owe to you. She brought me to the light of day, you to the light of the soul. Amaury, to make me wholly yours, be often with me.

      Always, always, cried Amaury, taking the girl’s hand, and pressing it to his burning lips; oh! Madeleine, I love you, I love you!

      But at the touch of his kiss, the poor child started up, flushed and trembling, and, putting her hand to her side, said: Oh! no, no! your voice is too passionate, it frightens me; your lips are burning. Restrain yourself, I do beseech you. Do remember the poor sensitive plant; I went to look at it yesterday, but it was dead.

      "Well! well! Madeleine, it shall be as you wish. Sit down again, dear, and let me lie on this cushion at your feet, and since my love frightens you, well, I must content myself with a brotherly chat. Thank Heaven! your cheeks look natural again; they have lost that hectic flush which they had awhile ago, and that deadly pallor which overspread them when I came in so suddenly. You are better again, you are well, Madeleine, my sister, my sweetheart.

      The girl sank down, rather than sat in the armchair, supporting herself on her elbow, and let her face, shaded by her long fair hair, fall forward, the tips of her curls brushing against the young man’s forehead.

      In this attitude her breath mingled with her lover’s.

      Yes, she said, "yes Amaury, you can make me blush and grew pale at will.

      You are to me what the sun is to the flowers."

      Oh! how intoxicating to thus make you blush with a look — revive with a word! Madeleine, I love you, I love you.

      A silence fell between the two young people, and their very souls seemed to meet in that look.

      Suddenly they heard a slight noise in the room. Madeleine raised her head, Amaury turned round.

      Monsieur d’Avrigny was standing behind them, with a look of anger on his face.

      My father! cried Madeleine, throwing herself back in her chair.

      My dear guardian! said Amaury awkwardly, as he rose and bowed to him.

      Monsieur d’Avrigny made no reply, but slowly took off his gloves and placed his hat on a chair, and, still without moving from the same spot, after a moment’s silence which seemed like an hour’s torture to the two young people, he said in a harsh grating voice:

      What! here again, Amaury! you are likely to become a very accomplished diplomat, if you continue thus to study politics in ladies’ boudoirs, and to make yourself acquainted with the wants and interests of the masses, by seeing how embroidery is made! You are sure not to remain long a simple attaché, but are certain to have rapid promotion as first Secretary in London or St. Petersburg, if you practise so industriously to fathom the depths of thought of a Talleyrand or a Metternich, in the company of a schoolgirl.

      Sir, Amaury replied, in a tone in which filial affection struggled with hurt pride, perhaps in your eyes I neglect somewhat the studies necessary to the career you have been good enough to choose for me, but the Minister has never reproached me with any such neglect, and only yesterday, when reading over to him certain documents which he had given me — .

      The Minister has given you documents to draw up, you! on what subject? on the forming of a second jockey-club, on the rules of boxing or fencing, on the laws of sport in general, or steeple-chasing in particular? Ah! then, I am no longer surprised, he was well satisfied.

      But, my dear guardian, Amaury replied with a slight smile, may I remind you that it is to your almost fatherly solicitude I am indebted for these elegant accomplishments with which you now reproach me. You have always impressed upon me that fencing and riding, together with a knowledge of the two or three foreign languages I have mastered, are essential to the education of a gentleman of the nineteenth century.

      Oh! I am well aware of that fact, sir, when he uses these accomplishments as a distraction from serious work, but not when he turns serious work into a foil for pleasure. You are truly an exact type of the man of the present day, who imagines science is to be mastered without hard study, and who, after spending an hour in the morning at the Chamber, an hour at the Sorbonne in the afternoon, an hour at the theatre in the evening, poses as a Mirabeau, a Cuvier, a Geoffrey, proclaiming aloud his genius, and contemptuously tossing his drawing-room judgment into the scale where the destinies of the world are weighed. You say the Minister congratulated you yesterday? very well, live on these great expectations, discount these pompous praises, and when the day of reckoning comes, fate will leave you bankrupt. Because at twenty-three, guided by an accommodating guardian, you find yourself doctor of law, bachelor of arts, attaché at the Embassy, because you are privileged to attend the lévees at Court in a uniform with gold embroidery on the collar; because the Legion of Honor has perhaps been promised you as to many others to whom it still remains but a promise, you seem to think that all is accomplished and that fortune can bring you nothing more. I am rich, you say, therefore I need do nothing; and as a result of this clever reasoning, your title of gentleman degenerates into a brevet for idleness.

      But, father, dear, cried Madeleine, alarmed at Monsieur d’Avrigny’s increasing anger, what are you saying? I have never heard you speak to Amaury in this way before.

      Sir! sir! stammered the young fellow.

      Yes! continued Monsieur d’Avrigny more calmly, but more bitterly, my reproaches wound you, because you know how well they are deserved, is it not so? Well! you must get used to them, if you continue spending your time in such an aimless fashion, or else, you must make up your mind to cease visiting a cross and exacting guardian. Oh! it is only since yesterday that you have become your own master. The power over you which my old friend, the Comte de Léoville bequeathed to me, no longer legally exists now, but, morally, I feel the same responsibility; and it is my duty to warn you that in these troublous times, when wealth and honours depend on the caprice of the masses, or a rising of the people, one should only rely upon oneself, and that millionaire and nobleman though you be, a father of good position would but be acting wisely in refusing you the hand of his daughter, remembering that your success in racing, and your rank at the jockey-club are not considerations of any serious importance.

      Monsieur d’Avrigny’s excitement increased as he spoke, he strode up and down the room, neither looking at his daughter, who was trembling like a leaf, nor at Amaury who stood with knitted brows.

      The young man, whom respect alone kept silent, looked from Monsieur d’Avrigny, powerless to understand the cause of his anger, to Madeleine who was as astounded as himself.

      Do you mean to say, continued Monsieur d’Avrigny, standing before the two young people, who were struck dumb by his sudden anger, "do you mean to say that you did not understand why I asked you to give up living with us? It is because I think it most unsuitable that a young man of birth and fortune should spend his time playing with girls; because what is all very well when twelve years old, becomes ridiculous at twenty- three; because, after all, my daughter’s future, although in no way connected with yours, might suffer equally with your own from these repeated visits."

      Oh, sir! sir! cried Amaury, in pity spare Madeleine. Can you not see that you are killing her?

      For Madeleine, white as death, had fallen back motionless into her chair, struck to the heart by her father’s terrible words.

      My daughter, my daughter! exclaimed Monsieur d’Avrigny, turning as pale as she, my daughter! Ah! it is you, Amaury, who are killing her.

      And going up to Madeleine, he took her in his arms, as if she were a child, and carried her into the adjoining room.

      Amaury wished to follow him.

      Remain where you are, sir, he said, turning on the threshold. I order you.

      But, cried Amaury, clasping his hands, she needs help.

      Well! returned Monsieur d’Avrigny, am I not a doctor?

      I beg your pardon sir, stammered the poor young fellow, but I thought — I should have been glad to remain at hand, in case — .

      Many thanks, my good sir, many thanks for your solicitude. But rest content — Madeleine is with her father, and I will look after her myself. Therefore take care of yourself, and good-bye!

      Good-bye for the present, said the young fellow hesitatingly.

      Oh! good-bye, Monsieur d’Avrigny replied coldly; and with his foot he pushed open the door, which closed on himself and Madeleine.

      Amaury stood still a moment, motionless, crushed.

      Just then a bell rang, summoning the maid; at the same moment, Antoinette re-entered the room with Miss Brown.

      Good Heavens! what is the matter? cried Antoinette, why are you so pale and unnerved? Where is Madeleine?

      She is dying! dying! exclaimed the young man. Do go to her, Miss Brown; she badly needs your help.

      Miss Brown walked hurriedly towards the room which Amaury pointed out.

      But why do you not go in too? asked Antoinette.

      Because he has forbidden me to do so, answered Amaury.

      Who has?

      He! Monsieur d’Avrigny! Madeleine’s father.

      And snatching up his hat and gloves, the young man rushed like a madman from the room.

      CHAPTER III.

      ON reaching home, he found a friend ‘waiting to see him. his was a young barrister, his schoolfellow at St. Barbe and afterwards at the Ecole de Droit and the University. He and Amaury were about the same age; but, although he was of independent means, with an income of some 20,000 francs a year, he was of humble birth, none of his ancestors having ever been great or famous. His name was Philip Auvray.

      Amaury was apprised by his valet of this untimely visit, and, for one moment, he thought of going straight to his bedroom and leaving Philip to wait until he was tired of waiting. But Philip was such a good fellow, that Amaury felt it would be too bad to treat him so. He therefore entered the little study into which his friend had been shown.

      As he entered the room, Philip rose, and came towards him.

      Well! old fellow, said the young barrister, I have been waiting for you nearly an hour. I was getting very impatient, and had just decided to leave; in fact, I would have done so long ago, had I not wished to ask your advice on a most important matter.

      My dear Philip, said Amaury, we are such fast friends, that I know you will not feel hurt at what I am going to say. Have you lost at cards, or have you a duel on hand, — the only two things which cannot be put off; must the money be found to-day? have you’ to fight tomorrow? In either case my purse and myself are entirely at your service.

      No, said Philip, it is something far more important, but manifestly less pressing.

      In that case, dear friend, said Amaury, I must ask you to postpone to another day whatever you may have to tell me, as one of those things has just befallen me which thoroughly unnerve a man. I have no heart for anything. In spite of our great friendship, whatever you might say would be sheer waste of words.

      My poor fellow, said Philip, but I, cannot I do something for you?

      Nothing, but to put off for a few days what you wished to consult me about; nothing, but to leave me to myself and my troubles.

      You unhappy! Amaury unhappy! Amaury who can boast of one of the most envied names, and one of the largest fortunes in France? Is it possible that the Comte de Léoville with a hundred thousand francs a year can be unhappy! Faith! had you not yourself said so, I could not have believed it.

      Well! it is nevertheless true, old friend — yes! yes! miserable... most miserable! and it seems to me that when our friends are in trouble, the greatest kindness we can show them is to leave them to themselves, and their sorrow. You do not know what trouble means, Philip, unless you can understand this.

      Whether I understand or not, Amaury, you know full well that I always do what you ask me. You wish to be alone, dear old fellow — then goodbye, goodbye.

      Goodbye, said Amaury, as he flung himself into an armchair.

      Just as Philip was closing the door, he said:

      Philip, tell my valet that I am at home to no one, and do not wish to be disturbed on any pretext whatever, unless I ring.

      Philip signed to his friend that he would do as he wished, and after speaking to the valet, he went away, vainly trying to understand what could have happened to plunge

      Enjoying the preview?
      Page 1 of 1